I lit'rally do not have time to write right now. That's literally without the middle syllable, that's the way I say it, and yes I know how pretentious that is. I like it that way.
My head hurts and I am absolutely bursting at the seams with literary-ness, the need to express, the raw desire and willingness to write. I feel like my hands are trying to run away from me. But currently it's not happening, because I'm too busy getting frantic about things for school (why why why haven't I heard about the DMP yet? where is my ENLT paper topic? exams what?) and procrastinating and all of a sudden I'm waist-deep in paperwork.
We found somewhere to live. I'm so excited about the fireplace in the hallway, spending summer nights out on the roof, a house full of queer kids.
I've got to stop here because I have real work to do. I'm just not sure what that might be.
listening to : kate nash
reading : my exam calendar (oh god oh god)
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